The Call of the Final Stage
by Chauni
Summary: Spoilers; A person struggles with departure and the demise of ideals.


Author: Chauni  
  
Email: ChauniMaxwell@mechpilot.com  
  
Website: www.geocities.com/asukalangley2nd  
  
Disclaimer: As much as I hope and pray, I still do not own Cowboy Bebop.  
  
Warnings: SPOILERS, POV, Angst, Language  
  
Notes: And does anyone know what scene this takes place in? ::smiles::  
  
  
  
  
  
1 The Call of the Final Stage  
  
  
  
I wanted to speak an eternity of words, expelling the distinct taste of love that seeped down upon my forked little tongue, but I could not bear to taint them all with brutal oxygen, air that twisted and confused, that seeped down into lungs and mangled the phrases before they ever saw life. The words taught by God and used by humans sat down like some beast in the pit of my pregnant stomach, pleading to be born like some fabled Antichrist that might destroy the fragile little crystal castle we built for ourselves.  
  
The back of your suit is covered in a thin layer of dust, making it look as if the sun had just disappeared and lights littered a deepening horizon far off, and my hand twitches to run up behind your retreating form and brush it off. You walk with your customary gait, very distinct and smooth, like on a windless day over water, and your skill, strength, shines through similar to that of a beacon on a misty day.  
  
The bittersweet taste of blood fills my mouth like a torrent as I bite my lower lip, holding back the screams of rage, of loneliness, of abandonment that compensate for twelve lifetimes over. That familiar talon sneaks around the ventricles, cutting off the blood as I grow cold and my eyes fill with a fire I haven't felt in awhile.  
  
You are never coming back. You're going to find your life in your final dying moments, and will never come back to me, to this ship, to your friends.  
  
But were we ever really friends? Sure you saved my ass a few times, here and there, but your words were short, your ideas cold, your lips as callous at your hands. Only between the sheets, under the cover of space when the stars passed like wildflowers through the heavens, did I realize that you had some heat simmering down inside.  
  
My heel clicks against the metal walls, reverberating a million times over, while my hand trembles up in the air, cold weight threatening above. I can't believe it, can't imagine how everything was warped, shuffled, and this was what fate led us to, the inevitable separation. My finger spasms, tight with rage, and I fire, not to frighten, not to change your mind, but to kill the demon that's forcing us down these little rat mazes and laughing at us all the while.  
  
Your happiness is a death, not of your body, but of a bond, of a single unity that began breaking apart and will finalize now. I wonder if you're smiling as I release several more rounds and collapse to my knees, the fire exploding like a volcano and running lava down my cheeks. My hand curls up, beating against the tin can that's been my home, my only place to belong in so long, and even through my fuck-ups, my cold little episodes, my backstabbing and bullshit, you have been my joy, all of you.  
  
I can't hear your footsteps any longer.  
  
I'll never hear them again.  
  
A hand as frigid as the rest of the ship curls around one of my shuddering shoulders, pulling back the dark edges of my hair, all the heat of his body locked inside of his movements rather than the flesh. Fingers slide from the trigger, from the gun itself, and for a moment, I just stare at him with the black tracks of mascara running down my china doll face. Pushing up from my makeshift seat, I launch myself at it, feeling the hard arms wrap around my lithe form. The comfort of another body is exquisite, intoxicating, especially as I cover his chest with all the pain I've felt, and will continue to feel in my personal mourning.  
  
Those footsteps are ringing like sirens in my ears, drilling through my consciousness as manicured nails attempt to dig into the metal of the familiar arm clutching me. I want to jump away, to run away and follow him, save his life and keep him here, alongside us, forever, until the end of some stupid galaxy. I want to have a million more adventures, a hundred more stories to tell, a partner to help me discover myself amid a ruins of half-truths and lies. I want the only family I can remember staying locked in arms so tightly that pasts fade away and God can't even separate us.  
  
"Let's eat."  
  
"I'm not hungry."  
  
My response is bitter, cold, and the snakebite is barely kept from my lips. For a long moment, I hate everyone, everything, hate God and this fucking life where everything is taken from me in the end. For a moment-  
  
"Come on. He'll find his peace, and then maybe we can find ours."  
  
The words are bursting with a logic that seems so much easier to ignore, but what can I do but nod slowly and pull away. One little hand rubs at my cheeks like some three-year old, the soft sniffling coming forth gently. Looking up through a blurry underwater scene, I see my only friend left staring back at me with a peculiarly soft expression that surprises me, to say the least.  
  
"Let's grab something to eat, okay?"  
  
I nod mutely, the sound of retreat still vibrating in my head, but slowly fading away. The knowledge of that too being gone is bitter; I don't want to forget you, don't want to simply get over it all like it never really happened. I wonder if you'll think of me, or her, the dangerous female covered in a scent of thick life and violence, but I realize I already know the answer. One more swipe of my hand, and I'm following the soft sound of a griddle cooking, entering to a bond of two in exchange of a team that might have been a few weeks prior.  
  
Goodbye, space cowboy. May happiness find you, and may you live long enough to savor its sweet taste.  
  
  
  
1.1 The End 


End file.
